


Just One Yesterday

by DepravedDoll



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canonical Character Death, Cigarettes, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepravedDoll/pseuds/DepravedDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky thinks that he’s been lying to himself for years and that the only thing he really needed had been miles away, sharing his life with someone else.</p>
<p>He thinks of Sarah, she had been more a mother to him than his own and he had let her down, he had run away from his responsibilities and the family he had left. He felt alone then, on the step in the cold, fingers itching to open a fresh pack of cigarettes, to open the whiskey and drink it straight from the bottle. His family was gone, Sarah was gone and Steve would start his family with Peggy. Eventually, Bucky would return to Chicago, to that empty apartment with the picture of Steve he had kept hidden in his desk drawer.</p>
<p>He would bury the regret, in cigarettes and alcohol and nameless partners who came and went with the fall and rise of the sun.</p>
<p>He’s not good enough for Steve, too broken, too damaged, Steve deserves someone wonderful, Steve deserves Peggy. In the end he opens the bottle, lights another cigarette and he stares up at where stars should be, hidden by the too bright lights of the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this whilst suffering from very bad writers block and am in the process of attempting to improve my writing style. I hope it’s not too bad, I just had the idea and needed to get it out of my system, it will probably be one more long chapter to conclusion and that should follow shortly. Please let me know if you see any glaringly obvious mistakes or errors, it only helps to improve, also please let me know what you think and if you would like more :)

He hadn’t been expecting the call, hadn’t spoken to the two of them in years. He had stared at the blank screen of his phone for some time, fumbling to light a cigarette, desperate to find something constructive to do with his hands. The smoke filling his lungs was soothing and the burn on his throat wonderful as he watched the plume of exhaled smoke floating up into the darkness of the night, where the stars flickered distantly. There was a chill to the air he no longer felt and he contemplated calling back, listening to the voicemail, or pretending he had never received it and moving on with his life.

He wondered when he became so scared, so bitter.

Are they getting married, having children?

He ignores the way his gut twists painfully, dragging harshly against the cigarette which is becoming crushed in his grasp. His mind is made up and then the phone brightens to life, the call glaring and desperate in the shadows of the night. Something tells him to answer it, that it’s important, that he can deal with the fallout and pain after. He answers before he even decides to do so, a curt “Yep,” hissed into the phone in between desperate drags of his cigarette. The nicotine easing his tensions, if only slightly.

“I’m sorry, James, you know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important,” he wishes her voice didn’t bring the familiar sickness to his stomach. He wishes he could be better than he was, this twisted version of what he should be. He doesn’t allow the memories that want to break through, he suffocates them in smoke and tar, another cigarette, the previous too crumpled to sustain his need any longer.

“Yeah, I know,” he could explain he’s been working a case, tell her how busy it’s been, how time has run away from him. He doesn’t, he can barely find the words to speak, to maintain any level of conversation, he can barely stop from crushing the phone held tentatively in his grip. “What’s up?”

“It’s Sarah,” there’s a hitch to her voice that has his stomach bottoming almost instantly, his mouth dries and not from the smoke that he allows to burn his cheeks. “She passed away last night,” she’s been crying, sobbing, he can hear it even though she tries to hide it. “He won’t let me close, won’t let me help him, he needs you,” he rubs at his eyes, he’s exhausted, but he can’t say no, never could.

“I’ll catch the next flight out, should be there in a couple of hours,” he feels too broken for this, even as she thanks him and tells him he’s a good friend.

He’s not.

He never was.

The airport is almost empty given the time of night, he grabbed an overnight bag from his apartment, shoving in the necessary items. He changes and calls his boss as he’s slipping into a cab, all the while he’s itching for another cigarette. Packet empty, he settles for a black coffee instead, rests his head against the lid as he waits for his flight number to be called for boarding.

It’s been a long time, though he remembers leaving like it was yesterday, harsh words, harsher movements, his temper has always been short. His jealousy always quick and blinding. Sarah had been ill then, had been ill for some time, she always got better, he presumed she always would, for so long she had seemed invincible. She had been there all of his life and he struggled to comprehend that she was gone, he wonders if she was disappointed in him, he was.

There’s a familiar song playing in the background, soft and melodic, he thinks he should get more cigarettes before the flight. He knows that won’t be taken well, knows the harsh words that will be spoken the moment he reaches for the pack.

 

_“She’s moving in then?” He remembers trying to keep his voice neutral, trying not to move, keeping himself rooted to the spot he had stopped on. He’d had a drink, whiskey, probably his first poor decision for that evening. “I guess I’ll pack, don’t want me cramping your style.”_

_“You don’t have to leave,” Steve had insisted, like he expected him to stay, maybe clean up after dinner, help them raise Steve and Peggy Jr._

_“I can’t stay, can I,” the diplomacy had faded quickly, his carefully considered words turning heated and angry, the betrayal heavy on his skin. He remembers knocking over the stupid vase Steve had liked so much, flowers gifted to Peggy sprinkling across the floor. “I won’t stay, I don’t want to,” that’s what it had become and he had grabbed what he needed and left everything else behind, the door slamming as he went._

 

The calls that followed had been ignored, the voicemails and texts deleted.

If he had wanted to, he could have explained why he was so angry, why it hurt so much, but running had always been easier. Easier to leave, to forget, than to be pushed aside or to tell the truth and risk the chance of being asked to leave.

He buys the cigarettes in the duty free, lights up before his plane is called.

The plane journey is short, not long enough for him to compose himself, to prepare himself for what he should do and say. For the apologies he should offer that he knows he won’t.

Another cab, more street lights blurring against the darkness, then there are familiar streets. The park where they used to play, the school they had gone to, all the echoes of the past that cut too deep. He thinks the journey isn’t long enough, sits in the cab staring up at the building for a while, just letting the minutes tick by. Then when the cab driver has had enough he lights up a cigarette under a flickering street light, all the while staring up at that little window with the curtains drawn but the light still on at such an ungodly hour.

He supposes he should have expected as much, she had told him to come straight there. Told him, he could stay in his old room, not the comfort or distance a motel could offer. He runs a hand through his hair, grabs the holdall and moves. He knocks, twice, clears his throat and smooth's his coat for lack of anything better to do with his hands.

When she opens the door, her eyes are read rimmed and puffy from tears; she all but throws herself at him, gentle sobs into the fabric of his coat. She utters muffled words of thanks that he can barely make out, he holds her for a moment, despite the ache in his chest.

“Where is he?” he asks after the moment has passed, when she has composed herself enough, he already knows the answer and thinks he asks only to delay the inevitable. He briefly wonders if he will be a comfort or cause more pain.

“The roof,” she says, voice breaking slightly, “he doesn’t want to talk to me, to anyone, I’m so worried, he hasn’t eaten, he doesn’t want to discuss funeral arrangements. I don’t know what to do,” she sighs, smoothing her hair, straightening her skirt, composing herself, “he’s always listened to you Buck.”

“Yeah, maybe when we were kids,” he says and thinks, before you.

He leaves his overnight bag in the apartment, finds the stairwell leading up to the roof and follows the steps, winding higher and higher, fingers twitching for the familiar weight of a cigarette. The door to the roof is heavier than he remembers as he steps out into the cold, drawing his coat tighter as the breeze forces the door closed.

He finds Steve leaning against the stone wall at the edge of the roof, staring out at the city below. Observes him for a time whilst he tries to decipher the right words, the ones to sooth rather than cut.

“I’m sorry Stevie,” he wants to reach out, to touch and hold, he keeps his distance for the time being, fingers curling at his sides. The blonde turns to look at him, there’s a relief that washes over the other’s face at the sight of him but a tension that still holds to his shoulders. It’s been a long time since he has seen the blonde so upset and that tears him to the core.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” Steve says and the words sting Bucky more than they should. More than he is sure they were intended.

“Of course I would and I’ll stay as long as you need me,” there’s still this distance between them, the cool of the air a barrier. “You just needed to call.”

“I did call,” the accusation from Steve is biting, he wants to tell him he was hurting, but this isn’t the time. Instead he breaks the distance, pulls the blonde to him and holds tightly, his heart aches with it, full to bursting and Steve holds back. He still finds it strange the blonde has grown taller than him, if only slightly, he had been sickly as a child, Bucky stepping in when he got beat down by kids twice his size. He’s always been there for Steve, always will be, despite how his heart twists and burns inside his chest.

“How long have you been up here, you’re frozen,” he holds a little longer, lets the pain burn a little brighter. Pain Bucky understands, that he can take in spades. Steve pulls back, breaking from the other’s grip, he walks back to the ledge, reclaiming his seat atop the wall.

“A while, I can think up here, my head feels clear, too many questions in there,” Steve runs a hand over his face, the exhaustion clearly defined around his eyes. “When I go back in there, it’s real, I have to face it and for a while, I just want to escape it.” Bucky joins him on the ledge, staring down at the city below, vibrant even in the early hours. They sit in silence for a while, the air cool and Bucky wants a cigarette but doesn’t want the lecture.

“Do you remember, when we were teenagers and I used to drag you out on double dates, your mom used to demand I find you a nice girl.” The brunette laughs a little as he speaks, “I used to tell her there were no nice girls left, none good enough for our Stevie.” He swallows the emotions that bubble there, gives up on his restraint and pulls the beaten packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He glances at Steve as he finds his lighter, “no lecture, not tonight,” there’s a roll of eyes and a sigh but the protest seems to die there, he holds the cigarette to his lips, lighting it up and inhaling deeply.

“I remember her insisting you teach me how to dance so I didn’t trample all over my dates shoes at prom,” a broken, short laugh from both of them, Bucky’s laced with smoke.

“Yeah I took that hit, fucking hurt,” Steve gives him a look, sharp and pointed, “yeah, yeah, I get it, language and cigarettes, bad Bucky,” he smirks around the cigarette taking another drag. “She would moan at me too, do you remember when she found my pack of cigarettes, when I was fifteen and thought I was this cool tough guy. I thought she was gonna make me eat ‘em, God she was mad, disappointed I guess is the better word, but that’s what I’m good at, disappointing.” He digresses, stares at the cigarette held in between his fingers, burning to ash. “Anyway, she snapped everyone of ‘em, told me I was an idiot, ruining my lungs when you struggled with yours, I felt so small. Just a stupid kid, now look at me, smoking ‘em because I can’t not.”

“You know she loved you, she said you were stubborn as a mule and foolish but you had a heart of gold. She missed you when you went, never understood it, I think she worried.” Bucky laughs, a deep smoke rough sound.

“Why didn’t you call, when she got bad, I would have come back,” Bucky says and Steve shrugs, the subtle roll of his broad shoulders highlighted underneath the overhead lighting of the terrace.

“She was always getting bad and then getting better, until she wasn’t getting better and then it was so quick, I didn’t have time to think. I don’t think she wanted you to see her like that, hell she didn’t want me to see her like that.”

“Language Steve,” Bucky admonishes light heartedly, because humour he knows, he understands, the rest he struggles with. It prompts a half smile from the blonde at least and that, for the time being, is enough. “I’m sorry you had to see her like that, I should have been here,” he’s angry now, drawing on the cigarette again and crushing it against the wall.

“You’re here now,” It’s such a Steve thing to say and it kills Bucky at how grateful he sounds for that. As though it’s some amazing thing he has done, he lights another cigarette, smothers the guilt with smoke. “Peggy keeps asking about the funeral, what dress would she want, what music, what flowers, I know the answers but I can’t think, I can’t answer, I just need some time, everything is going too fast and I know it needs to but…. She’s probably prepared everything, you know what she’s like, she would want everything just right. What if I get it wrong, what if I don’t find the updated list and put her in the blue dress she liked a year ago but hated last week.” His breathing is slightly more laboured than usual, words laced with panic, Bucky leans forward, hand squeezing his shoulder in support.

“You’re overthinking this, she threw out anything she hated the moment she decided she hated it. I’m surprised I lasted so long, ” Bucky said with a wistful smile, “as for the rest, what was that song she was always singing to us as kids, always humming at breakfast?” It’s not that he can’t remember, he could sing it to Steve right then and there and not miss a beat but he’s useless with names. “Damn it Steve, Somewhere over the Rainbow,” a blank look meets him and in the end he sings the first few lines, voice melodic and soft but roughened by the smoke. He silences himself with his cigarette and then points it at Steve, “tell anyone I sang that and you are in a world of hurt my friend.”

“You used to sing it with her sometimes, when she’d sit at the piano and play. She always said you had a beautiful voice, hence why she hated the cigarettes,” Steve nudges the brunette to emphasise the words. Bucky rolls his eyes, taking another drag to make a point.

“We agreed no lectures remember,” Bucky licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair. “Well, I take it we’re agreed on the song choice, I think she’d like it, it’s sorta our song I guess.” Steve nods in agreement, a heartbroken look on his face and Bucky doesn’t know how to make that go away, how to make it all feel right again. “We should get you inside, Peggy will be worried sick and you know your mom would hate the thought of you up here for hours in the cold.”

“As much as she’d hate the thought of you smoking,” a smile, warm and familiar, Bucky contemplates hitting him. Doesn’t, thinks he will save it for another time. “You’re right of course,” the blonde stands then, stretching his muscles from where they have cramped with the position and fused against the cold. Bucky follows suit, straightening his coat and putting the pack of cigarettes and the lighter back in his pocket. Shadowing the other as he walks towards the door, “are you staying, or did you get a hotel?” the blonde asks but doesn’t look back as he speaks, pulling the heavy door open and holding it for his companion who takes the few extra steps inside.

“It’s late, I’ll probably crash with you, Peggy said that would be ok,” Steve nods to confirm it is, closing and locking the door behind him as they descend the staircase. They walk in silence and when they reach the door part of him hopes that Peggy has fallen asleep but she hadn’t, she’d waited.

Bucky feels too tired for this, says as much as he grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder, heading in the direction of his old room. He closes the door, flicks the light switch and sits on the foot of his bed, the room the same now as it had been when he left. He grabs his phone to check the time, thinks it won’t be long before the sun is rising and with that thought he strips and changes into some pyjama bottoms and an old beat up Ramones top. There’s an en-suite attached to the room, small, just a shower cubicle, toilet and sink, he turns on the tap, brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face.

He collapses on the bed, face down, smothering himself in the comfort of the pillow. He doesn’t move then, pulling the blanket over him as best he can without having to adjust too much. He can hear Peggy’s voice in the hallway, the worry evident in her words, harsh as they may sound. Steve needs time alone sometimes, with things like this, Bucky always understood that, he knew when to speak and when to shut up, when to hold on and when to let go. It’s something time taught him, time and the endless hours they spent together growing up. He knows Steve as well as he knows himself, or at least he thinks he does, sometimes he doesn’t understand himself at all.

Bucky’s fallen asleep to the sound of arguing on many occasions, his parents had fought many years ago. Most nights the sound had carried from their room to his, he had tried to block it out, until he became used to it. Now, in his little apartment, hours away, he could hear his neighbours or the people passing by his window on the street below. Still, he wasn’t used to hearing Steve and Peggy argue, they had never argued before, not to his knowledge. He remembers arguing with Steve, when they both were too stubborn for their own good, neither wanting to back down. In the end he falls asleep as the voices lower, unable to keep his eyes open, the slumber he falls into is peaceful and dreamless even with the events of the day. He is grateful for small favours.

_XxXxXxXxX_

Steve doesn’t sleep well, if at all, he tosses and turns and can’t stop the thoughts that play out in his mind, the questions and planning he knows should wait until the morning. Peggy doesn’t stir beside him, too exhausted to notice the slight fluctuations in the mattress as he shifts, the huffs and grumbles of frustration. He ends up feeling more awake than when he had been out on the roof terrace. He slips from the comfort of the bed, pulls on a jumper and quietly exists the bedroom. There is a silence to the apartment, the city, that he finds calming, the sun rising slowly from the horizon, the amber glow falling across the living room as he walks through it to the kitchen.

He puts the coffee on, the machine quiet as it buzzes to life, grinding the beans and filtering the water. He slips a cup underneath, watches it from where he leans against the counter, when the cup is full he adds a spoonful of sugar and holds the mug for a time, merely enjoying the warmth. He notices the slight breeze then, the way the apartment is cooler than normal. There are windows at the far end of the living area that lead onto the fire escape. He presumes they have been left open and moves to close them.

It’s there, when he goes to push the window closed, that he sees Bucky, leaning over the railing, he can’t see the cigarette but the smoke is a giveaway. He watches him for a time, whilst he leans against the open window, he thinks it’s strange to see the other there, in the place he had once frequented, but has remained empty for years. Bucky used to sneak out to the fire escape a lot, pretending he wasn’t smoking when Steve knew that he was, it worries him how dependent his friend seems for the things. He used to be a casual smoker, but now he had seen him smoke the same number he used to over a period of months in a few hours.

“Is that coffee for me?” Bucky asks and Steve can hear the smirk against his words before the other is turning his head to look at him, the cigarette long forgotten, crushed and tossed to the street below. “I’m dying for one, couldn’t figure out how to work your fancy little machine.”

“You press the button Buck,” the brunette shrugs, turning his whole body to face him. Steve remembers the Ramones shirt, he had brought it for his friend many birthdays ago-- over washed now, the logo flaking-- the shirt a darkened grey where it had once been black.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know how loud the thing might be, didn’t wanna wake you and Peg.” He slips back into the apartment then, ducking under the window, Steve pushes it closed once he’s inside. “I guess you didn’t get much sleep, not often you take your coffee black,” Steve smiles at the observation, sipping his coffee and moving back over to the kitchen to make one for Bucky. The brunette follows him, gentle footsteps across the wooden floorboards, easily evading all the loose and creaking boards from memory.

“Black, no sugar?” Steve checks, a nod confirms his friends tastes haven't changed too vastly in the time he has been away. He passes him the coffee, fingertips catching around the mug as it exchanges hands. “You stink of smoke, Peggy is going to have a fit if she knows you have been smoking in here.” Bucky rolls his eyes, sipping at his coffee before responding.

“I wasn’t smoking in _here_ , I was smoking out _there_ ,”

“Yeah, well, the smell lingers on you,” Steve points out, the brunette just smirks, licks his lips and makes his way to the couch, throwing himself into the cushions. Steve joins him moments later and for a little while they sit in a comfortable silence, drinking coffee as the sun continues to rise, lighting the apartment further with each minute that passes. “You couldn’t sleep either?” Steve asks after a time, breaking the silence.

“I did for a while, then I stirred and couldn’t get back to sleep.” Bucky brings the coffee to his lips again, taking a long swig before he continues. “I thought fresh air and Nicotine might help,” that smirk again, the one that is purely Bucky, that Steve has missed seeing more than he has allowed himself to admit.

“Well, now you’ve added coffee to the list I don’t think you’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon.” Steve smiles and Bucky merely shrugs in response.

“Ah, who needs sleep anyway,” a moment of silence again before Bucky turns to him, question poised on his lips, “things ok with Peg? Sounds like things got pretty heated,” Steve nods, runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, she was just worried, she was singing your praises once she’d cooled down a little,”

“Not many people who don’t Stevie, I’m a pretty amazing guy,” the brunette leans forward to put his coffee cup on the table. Steve catches sight of the scar running down the length of his left arm, deep and jagged, he used to cover it up, now it doesn’t seem to bother him. He remembers the day he got it, pushing Steve out of the way of a car, the driver too inebriated to stop, hitting the wrong pedal. The tyre had crushed Bucky’s arm, he’d had pins it in, had it put in a cast, it had played him up for years after, the brunette frequently in and out of hospital. He’d still beaten up the bullies when they’d picked on Steve, even using the cast as a weapon on occasion. He never really knew what he’d done to deserve Bucky and had felt an overwhelming sense of loss when he had left.

“Still plays up sometimes, stupid thing hasn’t been reliable since,” Bucky explains when he catches the blonde looking. He twists his arm to look at the scar a little easier, “I’ve told some amazing tall tales about it, you’d be surprised what people believe.” Bucky chuckles then, this wonderful rich sound, Steve feels the pains of the past few days ebb slightly at that. It’s easier, the loss, with Bucky by his side, everything has always been easier with Bucky by his side.

“How long can you stay for?” Steve asks, he’d wanted to ask last night but was too concerned with the answer, too concerned he would be falling apart all over again. It had been hard enough when he had left the first time, slamming the door as he went, he’d tried calling every day for weeks, months, after. Diverted to voicemail on each occasion and he was never sure how to put his feelings into words at the sound of the beep.

“My boss is pretty laid back, I explained the situation, he told me to take as long as I need.” Steve understands the unspoken meaning there, _‘as long as you need me.’_ It’s enough to sooth his pounding heart for a time, he thinks his mom would have been happy to see them like this, together again. She had asked about Bucky towards the end, her honorary son, the one with beautiful blue eyes and the flame red temper to clash.

_“Call him, Stevie, you’ll need him when I’m gone. Don’t let him be stubborn, holding onto silly little things.”_

Bucky was stubborn, always had been, he always thought he knew best, and perhaps, he usually did but Steve had always been the one to push him further than most. He’d certainly been one of the only people to get away with it. He had gone to call him when she passed, the first thing he could think to do and in the end he had thrown his phone, smashing it against the wall. He’d gone to the roof to lose himself in memories, to remember the last time they had all been together. He thought it would ease the pain but it had been more akin to rubbing salt into an open wound.

“I’ve missed you Buck,” he finally says, voice hushed, the brunette glances at him, a pained smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I could hardly stay forever Steve, a perpetual third wheel. You and Peg…” he swallows, bites his lip in thought before continuing, “you needed your space.” He thinks there may have been something else Bucky wanted to say, something that he holds back, but he doesn’t pry.

“I had a lot of space, a lot of time,” Steve knows the words bare a hint of anger, he can’t quite keep it back, bleeding into them along with the grief. Buck just nods, silent agreement. Steve had always expected him to come back after a few weeks at most, they’d argued before and he’d left, but he always came back. As the time had passed Steve had begun to realise that something had been different, something in this argument had stuck and the stubbornness in the brunette’s blood had kept him away. “Do you plan to stay in Chicago?”

“I’ve got a life there Stevie, not much of one but enough.” Bucky explains and Steve watches as he rests his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, he observes the line of Bucky’s neck, the angle of his jaw. He can recall endless nights sitting in the same positions, laughing over the events of the day, take out and beers and he can remember with startling clarity when it ended and there was just an empty space, silence and anger. Steve doesn’t know what to say for a time, sips his coffee for lack of anything better to do. He thinks he could tell Bucky how much he needs him, now more than ever, how he’s all he’s got, the only family he’s ever had, he might be able to guilt him into staying, but his heart won’t let him, won’t let him pull Bucky back to whatever had chased him away.

“Yeah, I know, be nice if we could visit sometime,” Steve thinks that’s the compromise he can make, holidays and calls over the phone, maybe it would be enough. He wonders if it will ease the ache that’s been present since the brunette walked out of his life, cutting all ties. Bucky turns his head to look at him, wistful smile and eyes too blue in the early morning light.

“You’ve always been welcome Steve, I was just too stubborn to tell you.” Bucky explains, voice soft, he licks his lips, holds his bottom lip beneath his teeth as he always used to when he was nervous or contemplating something. “You know you need to decide on a date, for the funeral, we’ll need to let everyone know.” Steve nods, runs a hand through his hair and finishes his coffee, it’s honestly all he’s thought about since the moments reprieve on the roof. The idea of setting a date makes everything seem so final, it stirs the familiar ache in his chest, increased at the thought of losing his friend shortly after, Bucky wouldn’t stay indefinitely. He found himself wondering what was waiting for Bucky in Chicago, did he have friends, a partner that Steve knew nothing of. “Steve?” Bucky called, pulling the blonde from his silent reverie.

“Sorry, yeah, I know, I guess Monday, that should give us enough time to arrange everything.” Bucky’s still watching him, there’s something in his eyes that Steve doesn’t understand and after a moment the brunette turns his gaze away and rises from his seat.

“I will let the Funeral Directors know and we can work through the list of people who need to know together, if you want?” Steve nods, watches his friend as he turns and heads into the kitchen, placing his cup into the sink.

“Yeah, thanks Buck,” Steve thinks he should say more, that he should broach the subject neither is willing to push, but he’s too afraid and instead chooses to let it lie. Things were easier between them before, he didn’t have to consider his words, if they spoke out of turn tempers would flare but settle quickly, now his words could have Bucky closing the door on him for good and he couldn’t take the risk of being without him again.

“I’m gonna take a shower, check my emails, I can keep work sweet that way.” Bucky smirks, that classic trademark expression Steve has missed seeing. He nods and watches the brunette as he walks towards his room. As the door closes and the water starts, he realises he has no idea what his friend does for work, it stills him in a way so little can and terrifies him how distant they have become. He makes himself another coffee, sits alone in comfortable silence as the morning grows older.

Peggy finds him some time later, she sits beside him, kissing his cheek before pulling him against her. He sinks into the embrace, holding to her, they don’t apologise, there isn’t any need for that, the situation is an exceptional one and they rarely row. Only two things have ever caused arguments between them, apart from this, it’s only ever been Bucky, when Peggy hadn’t been able to understand how devastated he was by his friend’s absence.

“Take it you couldn’t sleep?” She asks, pulling back and allowing her hand to rest lightly on the base of his neck. “Not surprising really, come on, I’ll make you breakfast, pancakes?” she smiles and he can’t help but smile back at her, she’s beautiful and warm and caring to a fault. She doesn’t wait for his answer, gripping his hands and tugging him to his feet, pulling him after her to the kitchen. Peggy prepares the batter and he makes fresh coffee, placing a cup beside Peggy where she cooks, she thanks him and places a kiss on his cheek quickly before returning her attention to breakfast. He pours himself a cup, leaving enough in the pot for Bucky before taking a seat at the kitchen island watching Peggy as she cooks.

“We thought Monday, for the Funeral,” he explains as she plates up the pancakes.

“That’s good, we could go to the florist later, discuss arrangements.” She says, placing the plate in front of him; she moves to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder, kissing the junction where his neck meets his jaw lovingly.

“Yeah, probably best,” he turns and kisses her, her lips soft beneath his own, she smiles into the gesture, chuckling softly as they part. It’s at that moment that Bucky walks into the kitchen, an uneasy smile on his face as he holds up his hands, one holding his cell phone, apologetically.

“Sorry, please carry on, don’t mind me, just getting some coffee,” Bucky explains and keeps his gaze on the machine, picking up his cup from earlier and refilling it.

“Morning James, would you like pancakes, I was going to put another batch on,” Peggy explains, voice light as she untangles her arms from Steve and brushes passed the brunette as she returns to the stove and awaiting mix. Steve’s gaze falls on the brunette, the slight awkwardness to his frame, the way his grip is tight on both the cup and phone in his hands. There are few people that call the brunette _James_ , the name spoken aloud in reference to his friend seems strange to Steve’s ears, he’s always been Bucky to him.

“Thank you for the offer Peggy, coffee is fine for me, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” If Steve didn’t know better he’d say there was a carefully concealed bitter edge to those words and the smile that follows. Bucky quickly focuses his attention on his phone, “business to attend to,” he explains and leaves the room as suddenly as he had appeared. Steve finds himself wondering about the exchange long after.

XxXxXxXxX

Whilst Steve and Peggy are out deciding on flower arrangements—Bucky had gently reminded Steve Hydrangeas had been scattered across the apartment when they were kids—Bucky calls the Funeral Directors and works his way through a list of people close to Sarah. It’s a difficult few hours but he works his way through the list alone, mostly so Steve doesn’t have to deal with the pity, the prying questions and senseless, mind numbing conversations. He finds comfort in the form of nicotine and smoke, sitting out on the fire escape as the sun starts to set. He smokes more than he should, losing track of time and his thoughts.

He thinks back to the morning, to Steve and Peggy in the kitchen and bites at his lip as the cigarette poised in-between his fingers burns dangerously close to skin. The exchange had been difficult to witness, the old and powerful jealously overwhelming. He had missed Chicago, the distance and peace that provided him, his little apartment where he could down shots of whiskey and smoke until he had run out of cigarettes. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and stubs the cigarette against the railing, tossing it carelessly aside and slipping back into the apartment.

He wanders for a time, studying the space, the things that have changed since he had left. A new vase replacing the one he had broken, a multitude of framed photos, most of Steve and Peggy. He studies them, the places they’ve been, the things they have done without him, he picks up a picture of the two of them, on a beach, laughing and clearly in love. Bucky’s stubborn, but he’s not selfish when it comes to Steve and as he stares at his friend in that picture, he subdues the pain in his veins with the knowledge that he did the right thing, that Steve is happy and really there is little else that matters to him.

Sarah might have been proud of him after all.

“Found him a dancing partner, told you I would,” he whispers, voice hoarse. There are a few pictures of him and Steve dotted around, from when they were kids, teenagers, some more recent, a handful of Sarah. He finds one by the replacement vase, the two of them and Sarah not long before he had left, he lifts the frame, studying the picture. He can remember the day it had been taken, Sarah had come out of hospital and demanded they go out to eat, they had gone to their favourite little Italian restaurant and the waiter had taken the photo at her insistence before he was allowed to take their food order.

It was enough to break him, if he weren’t already broken beyond repair.

The lock clicks and Bucky places the photo back beside the vase - it’s uglier than the one he broke - as Steve and Peggy walk into the apartment with take out.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Peggy calls as she moves to the kitchen, placing the bags on the island top. Bucky can’t remember if he’s eaten today, his memory conjuring a blur of coffee and cigarettes.

“Starving,” Bucky confirms with an easy smile, his eyes move to Steve. “You remembered the crispy beef right?” the blonde chuckles and gently places the bags he’s carrying on the table top.

“Of course, and the prawn toast, spring rolls and egg fried rice,”

“I never doubted you,” Bucky winks, keeping a careful distance from Peggy to prevent her catching the smell of smoke on him. He can feel the empty packet in his trouser pocket, carefully tossing it in the bin and covering it with a discarded take out bag. Steve watches him and the brunette knows he’s been caught, offering a non-phased shrug in response.

They discuss the flower arrangements as they eat, falling into comfortable silences at times. There is a defeated slump to Steve’s shoulders and Bucky watches him pushing distractedly at the food cooling on his plate. Bucky remembers when they were kids, when Sarah had taken Steve to one side and told him his father had passed away, he hadn’t eaten for days. After that he had only eaten enough to survive, to pretend to his mother that he was ok, because he worried about her. Their eyes catch when Steve looks up from his plate, a little broken smile offered that breaks Bucky’s heart.

“I have to go into work tomorrow,” Peggy explains, Steve’s gaze immediately turning to her. “It’s a really important meeting, I can’t get out of it, I know I was supposed to be helping you with her things, I’ve been trying to reschedule but we have important clients in from Hong Kong and Sharon’s away.”

“It’s ok, I understand, I’ll be fine,” Steve insists but Bucky can read the despair in the curve of his shoulders, hear it echo in the tone of his voice. He craves a cigarette, the weight of it in his hands, the smoke held against his throat but he knows Peggy will be less than impressed and smothers the desire. He contemplates a walk, feeling suffocated all of a sudden, overwhelmed by the past and the present alike.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, before he had even really thought about it, before he considered how it may feel to stand with Steve in that house, reliving their past in the shadow of grief. He can’t imagine the house, once so full of love and noise, so quiet and cold.

“You don’t have to Buck, I’ll be fine,” Steve insists, almost as though he had sensed the others uncertainty.

“I want to,” Bucky explains and he means it, it’s what Sarah would want, the two of them together, Bucky looking after Steve as he had always promised he would. He realises he’s going to need more cigarettes and excuses himself. He grabs his coat on the way out and lights up before he’s out of the building, the chill of the air as he steps out onto the street is refreshing, the smoke in his lungs burns and the nicotine in his blood calms him in a way little else can.

He walks aimlessly, enjoying the time away, the distance from time spent as the third wheel, he remembers the kiss in the morning, the ache he had felt at the sight of it. He lit another cigarette off the first, chased it with a third, finds a little shop and buys more cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey. He buys a coffee from a café open later than most, enjoying the mix of smoke and coffee on his tongue. He wanders for a while, until the coffee is gone and he’s smoked the rest of the pack he had started earlier that day. He sits on the step outside the apartment block for a time, watching the cars drive past and the world move by. There’s a part of him that misses Chicago, that little apartment that had become everything he needed, everything he had.

He thinks that he’s been lying to himself for years.

The only thing he really needed had been here all along, sharing his life with someone else.

Then there was Sarah, she had been more a mother to him than his own and he had let her down, he had run away from his responsibilities and the family he had left. He felt alone then, on the step in the cold, fingers itching to open a fresh pack of cigarettes, to open the whiskey and drink it straight from the bottle. His family was gone, Sarah was gone and Steve would start his family with Peggy. Eventually, Bucky would return to Chicago, to that empty apartment with the picture of Steve he had kept hidden in his desk drawer.

He would bury the regret, in cigarettes and alcohol and nameless partners who came and went with the fall and rise of the sun.

He’s not good enough for Steve, too broken, too damaged, Steve deserves someone wonderful, perfect, Steve deserves Peggy. In the end he opens the bottle, he lights another cigarette and he stares up at where stars should be, hidden by the too bright lights of the city.

Neighbours come and go, glancing over the stranger with mild concern. Bucky pays them no mind and they say nothing as they go about their business.

Steve finds him some time later, taking the seat on the step beside him in silence. Bucky expects a lecture, expects to be told that this isn’t helping anyone, that he’s selfish and childish. Steve doesn’t say anything, just takes the bottle from Bucky’s hand to take a swig, holding it in his hands as the silence hangs between them.

“You’ve been gone for a while,” Steve says, after a time.

“Needed to clear my head.”

“With cigarettes and alcohol?”

“Seemed appropriate,” his voice is hoarse even to his own ears and he briefly wonders how many cigarette’s he’s had. He knows it’s too many, knows he shouldn’t let his addiction rule him, shouldn’t let the horrid things be his comfort, but it’s easier than facing the thoughts and feelings he’s avoided for so long.

“Thank you, for calling everyone, you didn’t have to do that.”

“It didn’t take too long,” he lies, he’s always been lying to Steve, those little white lies to protect his friend, too little, too innocent to face the harsh things the world has forced on them. He’s carried on in that trend all of their lives. They’ve argued about it before, but it’s never changed anything, until Bucky left.

“You sure about tomorrow?” Steve asks, turning to look at the brunette, Bucky feels the gaze on him, observing him, he wants the whiskey but doesn’t want to take it from Steve. He wants a cigarette but his throat is sore and he thinks better of it, clenching his hands and pushing them in his jacket pockets.

“Of course, that’s our home Steve,” Bucky doesn’t specifically say it, but the thought hangs in the air between them, the silent accusation, ‘ _it should always have been you and me’,_ because part of him is upset at the thought that Peggy was supposed to be there in his place. The thought that she would have sorted through the things that had meant so much to them, that those little trinkets holding so many memories may have been casually tossed aside.

“This was our home too Buck,” there’s a fresh pain to Steve’s words that he muffles in a swig of whiskey. Bucky watches him, bathed in the glow of the streetlight, his heart aches and he wants to chase that pain away, doesn’t think it should have a place in the curve of the blonde’s shoulders. He doesn’t know how to fix it, this distance that’s formed, this pain they hold, in the end the silence extends as Bucky thinks better of the words that threaten to spill from his lips. The accusations have no place in the stillness of the evening, the hold of the grief.

“Yeah, but it would never have been forever Steve, it’s yours and Peg’s now,” he stands, smiles despite the ache that overwhelms him. He longs to reach for the blonde but chooses to keep his hands at his side, Steve stays silent and Bucky bids him goodnight as he walks back into the apartment building.

It’s sometime later when he hears the blonde slip back into the apartment, he stills himself against the urge to go to him, to say the things he has been meaning to for years. The ones overthought during long lonely nights, instead he just listens to the sounds of the other moving around the apartment until there is only silence accompanying the vast emptiness he can’t shake.


End file.
